


Bye Bye, Mrs. American Pie

by BeeBeMe



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, fuck it it's a novelization there i said it, gonna try for a realistic spin on the Fallout universe, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeeBeMe/pseuds/BeeBeMe
Summary: Maggie Barnes thought she'd left her nightmares in Alaska, along with her brother. Continental-side for the first time in 15 months, she focused on keeping her brother's widow and their son safe. The kicker? It was goingwell. Not great, not even good, but they managed.Of course, then the bombs had to drop.Shuffled into a vault, held witness to Nora's murder and Shaun's kidnapping, Maggie finds herself waking up in a world so alien, yet so painfully familiar. She had a mission, clear lines to guide her footsteps and her trigger finger. Find Shaun, keep him safe. Survive, if possible.Then a certain synth detective just had to waltz into her life and make things messy. Because the bombs weren't enough.
Relationships: Ellie Perkins/Piper Wright, Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Sole Survivor & Nick Valentine, Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15





	1. No Pancakes in the Apocolypse

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO yes, another project. I know, I was supposed to be working on Sparkless, but then a five-year-old videogame just had to jump out and catch my attention. The Fallout universe has so much potential (potential for smoochin' amirite?) and I won't say it's wasted (and I definitely won't say that I can do any better) but man did it make me want to take a spin at it. I hope I do the game justice.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Any and all feedback/criticism is cherished.
> 
> • • • 
> 
> _Sailing seas in bathtubs green to grimy shores  
>  Waging war to wading fores  
> And sway off course  
> Scream and shout  
> Trickle down and down  
> I'll build a home at sea..._
> 
> \- Axolotl, by Cosmo Sheldrake

_The world was white, red, and cold. So. Damn. Cold._

_It wasn't the coldness of Boston's winters, no matter how chilly they got. It wasn't the cold that promised snow and hot cocoa, it wasn't the herald of Christmas or the New Year. Spring didn't dare impose on the icy reign of Alaska's winter, and humans were foolish to try. The Bering sea, just a few degrees warmer than the air, did nothing to drive it away. So, the bone-deep chill settled over the air and froze her eyelashes together._

_Stones from the shore dug between the pads of armor on her knees. It smelled like fish and blood, gunpowder and smoke. Someone was screaming, maybe it was her. Perhaps it was the man in front of her with his intestines in his hands. It could have been the man to his side, desperately holding his shoulders to the ground so he wouldn't curl up. That was what people sometimes did when their hindbrain knew they were dying, but the rest of their brain just hadn't caught up yet. They'd curl up like spiders, hunched over the most vital parts of their body. Shielding themselves from an attack that had already come._

_"God damn it, medic?! Can't you hear me, move!"_

_Oh yes, that was what she was doing. She watched her hands move but didn't feel them. Evisceration didn't often end well. She needed to sterilize the area, keep the exposed organs protected. There was just so much, spilling out. Too much. The red overtook the white, and blood pooled around her knees. The sea lapped at her boots. Down to the stimpak (No, no, no. That wasn't right), pushing the cap off and releasing the needle (She didn't need it, not yet. The skin would just grow over the organs. He required surgery, not a stimpak.). It bent, flopped downwards like a limp noodle. She could almost taste the starch on her tongue._

_"Please- please make it stop. Shoot me, just- fuck-! I can't take it!"_

_She pressed it to his skin, just above the gash. It bent and dragged along his ribs, she couldn't make it stick. Her shaking hands held the plunger up to her eyes. The pressure gage spun slowly, the numbers reading gibberish. This one should have a few more uses left. She hadn't run out already, had she?_

_"Damnit, Barns! Get your ass in gear! The Reds ain't gonna wait for you to get your thumb out of your ass!"_

_The needle slipped again. "I'm trying, it's not-"_

_"Oh, God, just kill me. Please, I can't take it!"_

_She pressed harder, begging the needle to catch. The sea rose to her knees now, the blood blooming and swirling. She tried to hold the needle, but her muscles were too weak. Up to her hips now, so terribly cold. The man in front of her gasped, and she looked into the face of her brother. Desperate brown eyes were blown wide with pain and fear. Brown hair slicked down, frozen to his scalp. The terror turned accusatory, something dark in his gaze. Nate opened his mouth, the sea rushed in -_

_-and she was at Point Hope. She didn't know how she knew that, considering that she didn't recognize anything around her. The information was processed and accepted nonetheless. She was as sure of it as her fingers on her rifle and the frigid air in her lungs. Ice pinned her legs to the ground, keeping her on her knees. The sea stretched before her - white as the clouds above, white as the snow on her boots. The three blended, swirling together until she felt dizzy. She didn't dare look away. She was watching for something. She needed to keep looking._

_The sky fell into the water - or was it the water into the sky? The sea into the snow? The clouds rippled into the waves. Sunlight shone off of it all, so impossibly bright. Her eyes burned, but she had to keep looking. For what, she had no idea. The pounding in her head sounded like someone punching a door, the horrible thump, thump, thump of someone desperate or very, very angry. She was reminded of vertibirds, of medevacs that had long since stopped coming. Not fists or blades, but her heartbeat, she realized. Pounding away into infinity. It would stop soon, she could feel it. Surely as the sun slipping over the horizon._

_The blood rushed in her ears over the muffled sound of Mandarin shouting. A baby cried. The water turned red, and they rose from its depths. Tens of thousands of men, clad in shiny red power armor and screaming. There was a canister of Psycho pressed into her palm. The needle glinted in the red sunlight, the bead of liquid turning to blood. The baby cried harder. The smell of pancakes drifted on the wind. Her chest clenched, and she finally felt it. A break, a surge, ice-cold fear in her veins and the urge to run -!_

-and then it all fell away, like sand through her fingers. The baby still cried, and the pancakes still smelled sweet. Blackberries, she realized. She always loved blackberries.

Maggie Barnes woke slowly - not with a gasp or scream, but with a sigh and gentle flutter of her eyelids. Already, the dream slipped through the cracks of her mind - maybe that was for the best. She didn't need to remember what it was about to know that it wasn't pleasant. No, the sweat on the bedsheets and ache in her fingers told her enough. She forced her hands to open from their death grip, running her thumb across the indents in her palm. 

Still, she couldn't help but _want_ to remember. Maybe it was a weird version of survivor's guilt, the same shit that the quacks on the plane home kept warning them about. It was retribution, in a sense. If all she got out of the war was a few bad dreams, it was still a whole hell of a lot more than the men buried back in Anchorage. Her price to pay, her comeuppance. She wasn't resentful of it, it just was what it was.

The baby was still crying, the little one's voice echoing from down the hall. There was a faint whoosh and a familiar, posh voice. "Oh, Mum, he won't settle down!" Nora shuffled in the kitchen - "One second, Cods,” - but Maggie was quicker. Her feet hit the carpeted floor, the fuzz under her right warmed by the sun. With an ache from her side - damn hip, she should have left the thing in Alaska - she stood and shuffled into the hallway. 

"I've got him, Nora," she called just as her sister-in-law rounded the corner. The other woman looked just as worn out as Maggie felt. Dark bags made her brown eyes look even darker, and lines marred the corners of her mouth. She looked older, worn down. Not yet defeated, but damn close. Some days, Maggie couldn’t help but worry that the only thing keeping her from shutting down was the little bundle of joy in the other room. She wasn’t one to judge, considering Nora and Shaun’s similar roles in her own life. 

Right now, she smiled - the action thin and strained, but still there. “Thanks, Mags. Breakfast’ll be ready in a few.” And then she turned and went back to the kitchen.

Every once in a while, reality would smack her in the back of the head with a tire iron. How _normal_ everything was left a bitter taste in her mouth. Like she wasn’t back in the Alaskan wastes just a few months ago. Like Nate’s funeral (an empty casket, his body was buried in the trench once the Reds had advanced) wasn’t three weeks in the past. Like his shoes weren’t still in the hallway closet, like she couldn’t hear Nora cry herself to sleep every night. 

It didn’t feel like any of that had happened. It felt like the whole world was putting on a play. Ignore the pain, ignore the tenseness, ignore the fear. Ignore the statistics on the news. Ignore how good people, just a little too young and kind, leave, and don’t come back again. Vault-Tec sold fridges, not an escape from the inevitable nuclear war that’d take them all. 

Nora was cooking blackberry pancakes and Shaun was crying in the other room. The world outside was hellish and cruel. But here? She could pretend, she could be selfish. Just for a while longer. 

Down the hallway, across from Nora’s too-large room, into the nursery where poor Codsworth hovered - literally and figuratively - over the crib. The kind Mr. Handy - a stainless steel ball floating on a controlled plume of flame, all three of his dark optics focused on the baby in front of him - fussed just as much as Shaun. The moment her presence triggered his proximity sensors, one of the optics swung to look at Maggie. 

“Oh! Miss Margaret, I’ve tried everything! The mobile, the rattle, I even tried singing!” The earnest kindness (and the thought of the poor bot whittling his way through nursery rhymes) was enough to put a smile on her face. Whether that kindness was programming or something deeper, Maggie didn’t have the will nor want to ponder. Codsworth was Codsworth, and that was more than enough. 

She bundled Shaun - in his pudgy, not-quite-a-newborn goodness - into her arms and gently bounced him. “It’s alright, Coddy. Sometimes babies just need to be held.” The Mr. Handy in question came close enough to watch over her shoulder as Shaun quieted, the heat of his thruster warming the back of her calf. Slowly but surely, the sobs tapered off into hiccups and then even those into silence. Codsworth sagged as if a bomb had been defused.

“Goodness, I was worried he’d never calm down, poor dear,” he tutted before quieting for a moment. When he spoke again, he almost sounded morose. “I fear young Shaun doesn't like me that much.” Maggie could hear her heart shattering

Quickly, but gently enough to keep the whole fiasco from starting over again, Maggie shifted Shaun into one arm and slung the other around the Mr. Handy. Well, as well as she _could_ put her arm around him, that is. “Hey, come on now. Don’t worry too bad, Coddy,” she cooed. “Babies don’t know their feet from their hands most of the time. Once he grows up and starts seeing the world as less of a bunch of blobs, I’m sure you two’ll be the best of friends in no time.”

A few words seemed to do the bot good as his thruster flared to its normal output and he stopped looking so dejected. “If you say so, Miss Margaret. Ah!” One of his optics swung to look towards the front of the house as a quiet chime sounded. “It seems like there’s someone at the door. Please excuse me, Miss Margret, young Shaun.” And with that, Codsworth was gone again. Maggie looked down at the infant in her arms, smiling at the big amber eyes that peered up at her.

“Let’s get you to your mom, then. How’s that sound little guy?” She rose Shaun up to hold against her shoulder, smiling even more at the answering giggle. “Yep, I thought you’d agree. Seems like pancakes for breakfast. Your Pa always said your Ma made a killer flapjack.” No matter how much it hurt, Shaun deserved to hear about Nate, even from such a young age. Perhaps even especially at a young age. Just to always keep him close - if not in body, then in spirit.

“‘Course, you’ll be getting something a bit different,” she continued as she slowly started down the hallway, “It’s gonna be a few months until you get to try any, and a few more until you can tell me whatcha think. I’ll be waiting with bated breath, of course.” Another coo and a giggle, most likely more from the sight of his mother over the stove than anything she said. Nora turned and shone that sad, sad smile, one that Maggie returned in kind. An unspoken agreement - yes, we both hurt. No, we aren’t going to acknowledge it. The Barnes way, some might say. Nora was fitting in just a little too well.

Maggie was just getting Shaun settled in his highchair when Codsworth came from the foyer. “Miss Margeret? There is a man at the door that insists on speaking with you. He says he is from Vault-Tec.” Well, that wiped whatever cheer on her face right up. The existence of the entire corporation was like a slap to the face. ‘No, none of your efforts made any difference. Yes, despite everything you’ve gone through, nuclear hellfire is still on the table. Well, hey! Don’t look so glum - at least you’ll get to live out the rest of your lives in an underground, metal sarcophagus!’ Sure, they were right to prepare, but the forced cheeriness still rubbed Maggie the wrong way.

Also, they were bureaucratic assholes. God, did she hate bureaucratic assholes.

"One second, Coddy." She took her sweet time buckling the last strap on Shaun’s chair before straightening and ambling towards the door. Standing there, outlined by the early fall sun outshined by his plastic smile, was a Vault-Tec rep. Outfitted in a cheery yellow trench coat to match his cheery yellow hat and a cheery little smile. The clipboard in his hand was emblazoned with the blue lines and circle of the Vault-Tec logo. He held the board to his chest like a nervous schoolgirl trying to ask her crush to prom. When she appeared, his smile lit up with perfect white teeth and he tipped his hat.

"Good morning! Vault-Tec calling!" He chimed, the words too even and smooth - or maybe she was being paranoid. Probably paranoid. "I'm looking for a," he checked his clipboard and peaked at the house number, “Miss Margaret May Barnes. Your - ah, _protective_ Mr. Handy unit wouldn't disclose if anyone by that name lived here." Maggie sidestepped until the man's glare cut into her shoulder instead of into the house. She could almost feel Codsworth bristling behind her. Why someone would pick a fight with such a sweet bot (who also had a buzz saw for an arm, by the way) was beyond her, but it only cemented his place in her mind.

"That's me. Why do you ask?" She asked, chin raised and hands tucked behind her back. Stance wide, eyes steely. Hopefully, the guy would take the hint and get the hell out of dodge, but the man and his equally persistent smile stayed.

"As you most likely already know, Vault-Tec is the foremost builder of state of the art underground Fallout shelters. Vaults, if you will. Luxury accommodations, where you can wait out the horrors of nuclear devastation." The way he talked about it, so flippantly, as if nuclear devastation and the deaths of billions was just a neat excuse to go on vacation, made her stomach curdle. Still, she let the man go on. "As thanks for your service, Miss Barnes, you and your dependents are guaranteed a place within Vault 111 - one of our state-of-the-art facilities not far from here. I just need a few details from yourself to seal the deal. First question-"

Maggie cut him off by holding out her hand towards the clipboard. The man's smile slipped slightly, looking incredulously at her for a moment before relenting. "Ah- alright. That isn't standard procedure, ma'am." Still, he handed over the clipboard and pen. 

"I'm sure you've got a lot of people to get through. I don’t want to hold you up for long," Maggie replied as she scanned the paper. Sanctuary Hills - idyllic, pristine, peppered with picket fences, pretty cars, and green lawns - was inhabited almost solely by military veterans and their families. Mrs. Rosa and her son lived across the street. They'd been secured a place in Sanctuary Hills after her husband had died during the initial invasion of Alaska in 2066. Apparently, they'd been living there ever since. 

The Hawthorns down the street were a bit more of an enigma. The two had been soldiers, but that was all anyone had been able to pry out of them. The Red scare had hit them hard - the only people they trusted were each other, and even that trust was fragile at best. Maggie had no doubts that the Vigilant Citizen's Hotline was frequented in that household. Still, she hoped that they and the Rosas would be next on the Vault-Tec reps list if he hadn't gotten to them already.

Back to the paper, she had to pencil in her name (despite the Vault-Tec rep calling her by name _and_ it being in large, blocky letters at the top of the form), where she served (Anchorage, Juneau, Point Hope…), her rank (Combat Medic), and length of service (15 months from early 2076 to mid-2077). It even asked for her S.P.E.C.I.A.L test results. Thank goodness she remembered those stupid numbers, she didn't want to keep the rep on Nora's doorstep for longer than she needed to. Having to run back in for her documents wouldn't speed up the process any. 

It took only a few minutes to fill out the form and hand it back to the man, who tipped his hat and took his leave. Back in the house, the TV murmured and Nora tried to coax Shaun into eating whatever that green stuff on the end of the spoon was. Maggie flashed the poor little guy a sympathetic look before turning to her own breakfast. Three flapjacks, turned a little purple from the berries in them, butter dripping down their sides and syrup close by. "Da-ang, Nora," she quickly censored herself after the woman in question sent a glare over her shoulder. "You've really outdone yourself. Thanks a ton." The glare turned into a smile and Nora turned back to Shaun.

"No worries, Mags. Thanks for getting Shaun. He’s been…” Something darkened on her face, something sad and distant, before coming back to reality. “Fussy. It’s like he knows.” The flapjacks were forgotten as Maggie swiveled on the stool to face Nora’s back. It wasn’t like she was going to eat in front of the stressed mother anyway.

“He knows we’re sad, I figure,” Maggie said softly when Nora didn’t continue. “Babies are supposed to be good at reading tone and such, wouldn’t surprise me if that’s what’s going on.” The slouch in Nora’s shoulders deepened and bowed, sending Maggie scrabbling to find something to reclaim those stolen inches. “He’ll get better as we, ah, heal.” There was a very good reason why Maggie specialized in physical wounds and not mental ones. Nora sighed and Maggie wished that she’d learn to keep her damn foot out of her mouth. 

Breakfast was spent in silence after that - nothing but the occasional babble from Shaun, the clank of steel on ceramic, and the faint muttering on the TV. Maggie only half-listened to the man on the TV, quickly tuning out once the topic eventually looped back to the war. As they always did. If it wasn’t war, it was oil - or, rather, the lack of it - and that would always loop back around to war. So many people lost, so many days spent guarding pipelines and frightened drillers. Her fist tightened around the fork and she could almost hear the shouted Mondrian. 

“Mum! Oh goodness, you need to see this!”

Maggie… couldn’t remember Codsworth ever sounding afraid. Startled, sure. Worried? Yes. Genuinely, soul-crushingly panicked? Never. Not until now.

Nora wore the same, shocked expression as she glanced at Maggie before hurrying off to the living room. Maggie was hot on her tail even as Shaun gave a displeased gurgle at being left alone. 

The same man, previously chatting about the weather and the situation in Anchorage, looked considerably more pale in a way that not even studio makeup could hide. _“Followed by… yes, followed by flashes. Blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions… We’re… we are trying to get confirmation…”_ The man looked to someone offscreen and the sweat on his brow shimmered. 

“What- what did he say?” Nora gasped, her hand over her mouth. It felt like Point Hope - coldness seeping up from Maggie’s toes and curling around her head. She couldn’t freeze. Not now. She had to stave off those icicles just a little while longer.

She grabbed Nora’s shoulder, “Get Shaun, I’ll get the bags. We have to get to the vault.” And like that, the two were off - Nora to the kitchen and Maggie to the bedrooms. All along the way, the voice of the terrified, already frozen man on the TV followed.

_”But we seem to have lost contact with our affiliate stations…”_

The canvas bag came from out of the closet, already stocked with food, water, and documentation. Pill bottles were hastily scooped in along with photos and family relics - kept close at hand just for this situation. A situation that couldn’t be happening. It had to be fake, an advanced drill, surely. This couldn’t be it. The low, bass rumble of vertibird in-flight echoed against her ribcage.

_”We do have… coming in… confirmed reports. I repeat, confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania.”_

New York and Pennsylvania… the bombs would be coming from the west. That means they only had a few minutes if that. The canvas bags were slung over her shoulders and she ran full-tilt from the bedroom. “Nora?!”

“Here!” By the doorway, bathed in late October light, Nora’s olive skin looked just a little too grey. Shaun was tucked against her shoulder, wrapped in blankets and looking _so damn confused._

_”My God…”_

“Come on, the vault’s up the street. Follow everyone else,” Nora nodded shakily and set off down the path towards the street and into the growing throng of people. A vertibird hummed right overhead. Maggie turned. “Codsworth!” The Mr. Handy floated frozen just in front of the TV as it flickered to display a pre-prepared technical difficulties slide. Codsworth jerked as if hit by an electric shock and turned.

“Oh! Miss Margeret, you must get to the vault! They will -”

“I know, Coddy, I know. I need you to do me a favor.” Maggie grabbed onto the side of the Mr. Handy’s spherical ‘head’. “Go into the bathroom, into the tub closest to the faucet, and turn your thrusters off. Go into power saving mode for five hours. We’ll find you when it’s safe. Do you understand?”

The confusion (Could he be confused? Was it in his programming?) broke her heart. “Yes, but-”

“Good, go!” The words tumbled out of her mouth and Maggie spun and raced down the path and into the street. The Hawthorns were nowhere to be found, but Mrs. Rosa and her teenage son were looking bewildered in the middle of the street. A vertibird swooped overhead, a pre-recorded message blaring from its loudspeakers, and Mrs. Rosa covered her son’s ears. 

“RESIDENTS OF SANCTUARY HILLS - IF YOU ARE REGISTERED, PROCEED TO VAULT 111 IMMEDIATELY.”

Without thinking, Maggie grabbed onto Mrs. Rosa’s arm and practically dragged the two after her. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, cold spikes of panic buried in her skin. Mrs. Rosa let out a confused sound, but she couldn’t find the words to answer. This couldn’t be happening. Could it? This was what they were trying to _prevent._ What Nate died for, to keep from happening - 

Off of the sidewalk and onto a dirt path. A nature trail that Nora and her took Shaun a few times. The trees were red and orange, the cool late October breeze stirring the leaves. An air-raid siren screeched in the distance. A chain link fence crossed the path. There was a throng of people at the gate, soldiers in power armor (Where the hell did they come from? At least they weren’t painted in red) stood guard at the side. The same Vault-Tec representative stood in front of Nora, making a scene.

“What do you mean? I _am_ Vault-Tec!” The man’s skin was flushed red on his cheeks, but pale on his neck. For a moment, Maggie thought he was going to sock the man, but one of the men in power armor spun their minigun - the sound making the hair on the back of Maggie’s neck rise - and the man in the yellow trench coat backed down immediately. “I-I’m reporting this!” With that, he was gone, sentenced to death just like that. The man at the gate’s eyes shifted to her and Nora. 

“Unless you’re in the Vault-Tech program, you need to return to your homes.” How the hell the man remained so calm, so _detatched_ scared her more than the miniguns behind him. Someone sobbed, the voice familiar. Another began to beg. Maggie forced herself forward.

“We’re on the list. Margeret Barnes, Nora Barnes, and Shaun Barnes. Please, let us though,” Maggie begged, hoping that he wouldn’t throw them into the flames just as easily. She kept one hand on Nora’s shaking shoulder, the other clenched at her side. The time the man spent to look through the list felt like ages against the backdrop of begging and air raid sirens. Finally, he stepped aside and Maggie pushed through without listening. The people in power armor didn’t shoot, so he must have let them in. 

Up the slope, through the sparse trees. Amber and red leaves swirled along the path, crunched by their frantic footsteps. A man waved them on - “You two! Come on! - and led them to a large, blue, and yellow platform - “Stand in the middle! Hurry!” Nora asked something about the people at the gate. The Rosas were just behind them, but Maggie couldn't turn and check. They just had to be.

At the top of the hill stood some of their neighbors. The Hawthorns were there, silhouetted by a wonderful view of Sanctuary Hills and the wilderness beyond. From so far up, everything seemed normal. There was Nora’s house, Nate’s untouched car. The perfectly-cut hedges that Codsworth slaved over (Oh, Coddy, I’m so sorry…)

And, far up in the sky, the black speck that was going to destroy it all.

Recognition struck through Maggie’s head like a bullet. She grabbed Nora and spun her around, crouching over her slim form. Shaun began to cry. “Don’t look!”

The light was blinding, separating the world cleanly into shadows and light. One of the people on the platform with them screamed. The ground beneath them rumbled and lowered. For a perilous second, Maggie thought the whole damn vault was going to give in. But one plate slid over another and the middle descended, getting them low enough to just barely miss the shockwave blast. 

A horrible squeal filled the air - metal on metal - or was it screaming? The people at the gate (the Rosas, those kind elderly folk at the end of the road), the people at the controls, _everyone_ in Boston… They were screaming. The world screamed. A death keel heard throughout the world. An explosion that rocked the very earth.

The heavy blast doors ground to a shut, blocking out the last of the muted sunlight (Or was that the bomb?). Sunlight that she and Nora and little Shaun just might not see ever again. Though she felt sick, she hoped that it wasn’t the only thing it blocked out.

Radiation was a scary bastard. Tiny, silent bullets tearing through the air, battering at your cells and DNA until all that was left were tatters. Uncaring, uncontrolled - at least a gun had to be aimed. It rips you apart before you even know it. People falling sick, getting better, having _hope_ only to die horribly not soon after. Yet another one of life's cruel jokes, in her opinion. Hopefully, the iron-clad walls and meters of bedrock would keep them away from the punchline. 

The platform shuddered to a stop, jarring her hip. Maggie let out a hiss that she couldn’t hear. Wait. A faint buzzing filled her ears, screaming fading into something softer but no less pained. She grabbed at her ear in shock and saw Nora do the same. Fear lit anew in the other woman’s eyes and she reached out, grabbing Maggie’s hand. A woman - one of the Whitfields - scrabbled at her eyes, mouth open in a scream that she couldn’t hear. Nora mouthed something, but Maggie couldn’t concentrate hard enough to make it out. A nuclear detonation, perhaps one of the loudest things to happen on little old Earth. Of course, they couldn’t make it out completely unscathed. God, what did it do to Shaun? If her’s were this bad, his-

-someone grabbed her arm and Maggie immediately shook them off. She spun around, fist raised, only to have someone grab her wrist. A shiny-faced Vault-Tec employee, clad in a cheery blue jumpsuit, smiled back at her, even as the similarly dressed security guard behind her raised his weapon. Something on Maggie’s face must have alerted the Vault-Tec employee who turned and waved off the guard. Back to Maggie, she spoke something slow and loud enough to hear some of it through the ringing. 

“Follow… me… radiation decontamination.” That made sense. They could _see_ the blast. If there was an operational geiger counter around, she had no doubts that it would be screaming. Not that she could hear it at this point, anyway. She wouldn’t be surprised if the skin on their backs started sloughing off soon. Maggie gave a tense nod and grabbed Nora’s hand.

As they weaved through the vault, her hearing slowly returned. The buzzing screech was still there, but it got quieter. Easier to ignore. Just like how it was easy to forget they were hundreds of meters below the surface - a surface that was likely on fire. The nuclear blaze snapping up the oxygen in the atmosphere and devouring whatever fuel it could find. Everything living being torn apart at the molecular level by radiation or fire, whichever came first. Hell on Earth, only that bad people were the only ones in hell. Here? It was everyone, good and bad. Righteous and debauched. 

For a faint moment, she wondered what the Reds thought now. Did China go the way of Sanctuary Hills?

God, she hoped so. 

They were led to a locker room, plastic sheets separating it from the rest of the vault. The sunshine-faced Vault-Tec employee stopped them by grabbing Maggie’s arm. She had to stand up on her tippy-toes to get close to Maggie’s ear, but at least she could hear her.

“Go ahead and leave your things here. They have to go through decontamination as well. Don’t worry, we’re much more gentle than TSA!” Her giggle was like chimes in the wind - a slap to the face with everything they’d just seen. Maggie couldn’t be angry (Was she really angry at the Vault-Tec representative just ten minutes ago? Over something so _petty?_ Now he was dead. Good God…) “You can change into your vault suits here, and then go down the other way to find Doctor Williams. He’ll take good care of you all. Well, I’ll leave you to it!” With that, Miss Sunshine left the remaining residents of Sanctuary Hill confused and dazed.

Mrs. Hawthorn was the first to speak, of course. “I knew this would happen. That Rosa woman, I told you she was a Red. Good thing they didn’t let her in, or she’d tell the Commies right where we are!” She frantically whispered to her husband as he mutely nodded along. Maggie didn’t find it in her to object. The plastic-covered vault suit crinkled beneath her hands (she couldn’t remember when it got there), but she stayed mute. Mrs. Rosa and her son weren’t here to defend. The Hawthorns could believe whatever they wished - their gossip couldn’t hurt them anymore. 

At least there wasn’t a Vigilant Citizen’s Hotline down here. Or, at least, she _hoped_ there wasn’t.

Instead, she turned to Nora and Shaun and tried to block out their chatter. Nora had her baby clutched to her chest, brown eyes blown black and circled by white. Her blue blouse had been splattered by dust and ripped at the side. Shaun hiccuped, having no more tears to cry. “Hey,” Maggie whispered, pulling the shocked woman into a one-armed hug. “Breathe. We made it. We’re safe. Shaun’s safe.” A hiccuping sob broke it’s way out of Nora’s chest. 

“Oh my God, it’s gone. Everything,” she whispered, head tucked beneath Maggie’s chin and above Shaun’s crown. “If we were just a few seconds too slow… What about Codsworth? What about _the Rosas?!_ My God, Maggie, we left them to die!” Shaun began to fuss, but Maggie just pulled the two of them closer. What could she say? They _did_ leave them there to die, just like the rest of the men in Anchorage. Why were they so special? Even Shaun - there were little kids just like him that deserved the chance to live. God, she couldn’t help but think of the NICU at Medford or Kendall or Milton. Souls just beginning their lives, lost in nuclear hellfire…

Maggie started to cry, too. At the injustice of it all, at the blood-boiling _shame_.

Still, each second passed like needles over flesh. Radiation sickness waited for no one. So Maggie drew back, guided Nora and Shaun to one of the wooden benches, gave her arm a squeeze, and turned to the lockers. The label on her vault suit wrapping guided her to one of the floor-length lockers, BARNES printed in shiny brass letters near the top, and provided her with the combination. The two canvas bags were carefully placed inside, her shoulders rejoicing at the lack of weight. With the door shut and lock spun, Maggie focused on changing into the annoyingly-tight blue jumpsuit. It clung at every part of her body, showing off the pudge that she’d gotten back after months of being continent-side. She felt self-conscious for all of two seconds before shooing those thoughts away. The world had just ended - if someone wanted to get after her for the existence of her belly, then more power to them. 

She turned back to Nora, who was wordlessly holding Shaun while staring at the opposite wall. A gentle hand on her arm knocked her out of her stupor and turned her attention to Maggie. “I don’t know how much radiation we got, but the sooner Shaun gets clean, the better. Put the suit on, and I’ll hand him right back when you’re done.” A low blow to string along Shaun to get Nora to move, but time was of the essence. Most of the other Sanctuary Hills residents had moved out already, the plastic strips fluttering with each departure. 

Thankfully, Nora seemed to see the necessity. With only a bit of hesitance, Shaun was transferred over to her arms. The little guy was surprisingly quiet. Dust clung to the wet tracks running their way down his face and Maggie wiped them away with her thumb. The decontamination couldn’t come sooner. Radiation was terrible for adults, but for babies? Rapidly growing and, therefore, even more dependent on the accuracy of their DNA? The few months of training to be a combat medic simply didn’t prepare her for that. Fear crept back, coming in for the kill. 

Hands entered her vision, connected to an expectant Nora. The dog tags and ring around her neck stayed, but the blue blouse and khakis had been traded in for the vault suit. Without saying a word, Maggie handed Shaun to his mother and stood. Silently, they slipped out of the room and into the realm of science-fiction. 

The next chamber was wall-to-wall with large, oval pods. What Maggie could only assume was a control panel was hooked to the left of the pods while large hydraulic arms lifted and lowered the heavy-looking door. The outside of each pod was blue and white while the inside glowed an inviting amber. A large, padded chair sat within each. Some already contained people - looking like they were in the midst of sleep. Others were open and bare to the world. 

A man dressed in a lab coat was talking with the Hawthorns, a large smile on his face as he gestured animatedly. “Yep! It’s a miracle of science, really. Vault-Tec designed them for later down the line, when everything calmed down and people were sent out of the vault. When they returned, they’d do a few hours inside of these babies and be right as rain. We didn’t foresee the lift moving so slow and contaminating you all. We’re really lucky to have them.”

Mrs. Hawthorn looked at her husband, who shrugged. The stern woman’s gaze returned to the man. “And how long do we need to be in there?”

“Oh! Just an hour or so, around 70 minutes if you want to be specific. We don’t even need to do a full decontamination cycle, since the level of contamination is so low. You and your husband’ll be out and exploring your new home before either of you know it.” That seemed to be enough. Mrs. Hawthorn gave a grunt of assent before moving towards one of the pods, her husband in tow. With those two dealt with and an assistant moving to help get them situated, the man in the lab coat’s attention turned to Nora, Maggie, and Shaun.

“Ah! The Barnes, i assume? You two get the best seats in the house,” he gestured to two pods across from each other, the last ones in the row. “Young Mr. Barnes will need to stay with one of you. The quicker we get you in, the quicker you can get out. Are you both ready?” 

Nora and Maggie shared a shrug, too damn tired and shocked to object. Whatever the man had said had satiated even Mrs. Hawthorn enough to get her in them, so that was enough. Maggie stepped up and into the pod, head nearly knocking on the low entrance. The seat was plush as she settled into it, the material shaping to her body and supporting the arch of her back. It was almost uncomfortable with how much it gave, but they’d only be in there for an hour. How much damage could it do in that time?

Across the way, Nora settled similarly. Shaun was settled against her chest, his cocoon of rocket blankets shielding him from the sudden cold. Maggie forced herself to smile. “See you on the other side, Nora.” Nora almost smiled, gave a nod, and the doors slid down. All Maggie could remember was a sudden flash of cold - reminding her of long, bloody days and pebbly shores - before all faded to white.


	2. Of Boxes and Dogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, chapter 2 got too big for its britches, and I figured that two weeks of waiting was long enough. So! Chapter 2 got chopped (roughly) in half, and here's the first part! Don't worry, we'll get to Nicky soon. Chapter 3 is pretty much written - just needs a bit of fleshing out and editing - but I want to get the second chapter of After the Storm done before it. Add a super-secret Deacon fic and Whumptober coming up - gosh, I'm going to be busy.
> 
> OH! Also, I have a tumblr! Find me here: https://bee-be-me.tumblr.com/
> 
> Big shout-out to dionysianrevelry and darlingsweet on their incredibly kind comments! Seriously, they kept me motivated and I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Anyway, here we go! I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> • • • 
> 
> _And I ask for no redemption  
>  In this cold and barren place  
> Still I see a faint reflection  
> So by it, guide my way…_
> 
> Last Pale Light in the West, by Ben Nichols

The sound of the pod opening was like a gunshot in Maggie’s ears.

The same, high-pitched screech rang in her head as air filled her lungs. Everything _hurt_. Every nerve was alight. Cold so oppressive it felt like fire in her veins. Thousands of needles in her skin, each electrified and on _fire_. The pod door gave way, and she was on the ground, hands scrabbling at her sides and throat. Each breath stabbed deep in her chest. The metal implant in her hip burned white. Shadowy impressions swam behind her eyes, the pain forcing them to close.

This wasn't right. What happened? She had to think. She had to-

_A moment of lucidness, a mere blink after going under. The door didn’t come up. Maggie couldn’t stand - the roof was too low, and her legs wouldn’t move. Everything felt distant, and she was _so damn tired._ Still, Maggie forced her eyes open. Was it over? Did the radiation decontamination work? _

_Someone moved outside the pod._

_It was hard to see through the frost (Frost? Since when was ice good against radiation?), so eagerly refracting the bright white of the overhead lights. A human shape. Too smooth and uniform. Uniform… they - she - had a suit. Hazmat? Was the decontamination unsuccessful? But the Vault-Tec employees hadn’t thought to suit up..._

_She moved in from the right, facing Nora and Shaun’s pod. A man - an intimidating presence decked out in homemade armor on top of straight shoulders, even from the back - joined her. “There he is.” His voice was grainy and distant, distorted through the ice, metal, and glass between Maggie and the rest of the world. “Hurry up and get him out.”_

_This wasn’t right._

_The effort needed to raise her fist and weakly pound against the glass was astronomical. It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t even hear her knuckle hit, though she could feel it like knives to her nerves. Everything felt sharp and sensitive, yet miles away. The woman moved to the pod’s control panel and pulled a lever down. They were after Nora. She hit the palm of her hand against the glass once again. Over and over and over._

_The pod opened, Nora sucked in a breath, and Shaun began to cry. She curled around her son (like spiders, not realizing they were already dead) and shook. “Is- is it over?”_

_Danger screamed in the back of her mind. The same feeling she had back in Alaska, with artillery flying overhead and a gun in her hands. The same fear as when she first saw the draft papers. The woman reached for Shaun, muttering lies as she grabbed an arm and leg (oh no oh God don’t hurt him please), and Nora jerked back. Shaun shrieked. If it wasn’t for the ice in her throat, Maggie would have screamed, too._

_"No! Let him-" The gunshot was loud, even from within the pod. Nora slumped - back stiff and eyes wide. Red, contrasting against the sheen of ice and her pale skin, gushed from the bullet hole in her temple. The man (fuck she’d forgotten him and he’d_ shot _her) lowered his pistol. Shaun sobbed and screamed even as the woman bounced him, too similar to what Maggie had done only half an hour ago._

_The man turned towards Maggie’s pod, slowly walking over. Casually, unconcerned, like he hadn't killed her best friend. Her arms went limp at her sides, the hard seat pressing at her back. Failure settled like a rock in her chest, an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. She couldn't fight, couldn't run, couldn't do anything but watch. He stopped. There was something wrong with the man's eyes - something broken beyond the scar over his left cheek. He smirked and peered into the pod, all too similar to how someone looked into an aquarium._

_“Well, at least we have the backup.”_

Maggie sucked in a painful breath, choking around the sob.

No.

No. No. No. It couldn’t be real. All of it was a horrible dream, a nightmare. Maybe the whole damn thing was a figment of her imagination. It _had_ to be. But... had the carpet in Nora’s house ever been so cold? Had there been a time when she didn’t hear Shaun or Nora moving around? Codsworth would be right on her heels if she’d fallen out of bed.

Codsworth. Nora. _Nate…_

Another ragged sob forced its way out of her chest, rough and painful in a way she hadn’t experienced even after Anchorage. Her tears were warm against her too-cold cheeks, but soon even they began to prickle with ice as well. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Opening her eyes and seeing the same damn room they’d been ushered into would simply confirm what she feared; that it was real, someone had shot Nora and stolen Shaun. Where was Vault-Tec? They said they were safe. They promised, as childish as the notion was, that they were _safe_. Why didn't they stop them? Why was it so _quiet?_

The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. Where was everyone?

Her eyes fluttered open, and this time the nightmare didn't fade. She was on her side, her left hip digging into the ground. The implant was still far too cold, even as the rest of her warmed. It felt like a slice of her had been taken out, like her leg had been cut off but she could still feel it beyond the break. Her arm lay outstretched in front of her, still mottled with burn scars and frosted with ice. She tried to move her hand, commanded it to wiggle or twitch, or _anything_ , but it remained still. Helplessness itched up her spine, urging on her frantic heart. It'd be so easy to shoot her, a fish beached on land. If that man came back, if the ceiling were to fall, there'd be nothing she could do. Nora and Shaun would be alone and _it'd all be her fault-_

Her groan came out as a wheeze, eyes settling on the cold concrete beneath her. It sapped away her precious body heat, but she didn't want to move. She needed to focus, to stop panicking, but her body refused to obey. She felt herself spiraling, unable to stop the slow slide into oblivion. The ice returned, creeping up her fingers and arms. Her heart fluttered against her chest as her ribs seemed to constrict.

 _“Critical failure in cryogenic array,”_ chimed a voice. Maggie flinched, even as hope lept into her throat. For a moment, she wasn’t alone. There might be someone else, someone who would help, but the voice buzzed and faded. It was fuzzy around the edges, but far too rehearsed. Forcefully understandable. Pre-recorded. Fuck.

She needed to move. Slowly, as if her skin was paper and her bones were glass, she flexed her toes and wiggled her fingers. It took far too long, but eventually, she rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows. Her muscles protested, almost feeling like they would rip - brittle, like rubber in winter. They held, and her neck ached as she looked around. The room hadn’t changed. Pods lined the walls, dim fluorescent lights shone from above. It was quiet, the type of quiet that lodged itself in her ears and made her head feel full of cotton. The disorientation threatened to tear her from the ground, but the whine in her ears, stubbornly lingering after the bombs fell, kept her (reluctantly) tethered.

The voice came again. _“Critical failure in cryogenic array.”_ Repeating over and over. How long had it been saying that, with no one to listen? The words themselves processed, but left her confused. Cryogenic array? Maggie was brought back to her days of being in a lab, thawing cells, and testing compounds. How careful she had to be, to make sure the cells thawed correctly. The intricacies of timing and chemicals and heat. She could vividly remember the irritating sense of failure when only a few exited the vat of liquid nitrogen alive.

The parallels were too harsh. They made Maggie's stomach flip. She needed to move. Her legs ached, her hip was persistently frozen. Another attempt to wiggle her toes had pins and needles racing up her spine. But she needed to _move._ Her head swam, and her body ached, and nothing felt real. She wanted to rest. She wanted to melt into the floor and let the cold take her. Maybe, when she woke again, things would be better. Maybe, _hopefully,_ she wouldn’t wake at all.

That thought was what convinced her to get up, a bitter stubbornness forcing her right knee under her body. Her left leg didn’t want to move. Each twitch made her painfully aware of the metal replacing her joint. Ice had settled into her very bones. She pushed up with her right leg, willing herself to stand, only to fall against Nora and Shaun’s pod the moment she was upright. But, she _was_ upright, and that was what mattered.

 _“Life support systems failing,”_ the voice shocked her back into reality, away from the pitiful sense of victory. If Nora was alive - if it had all been a horrible dream - she needed to get her, Shaun, and everyone else out of the pods, and _fast._

The red handle stood out against the dreary snow whites and gunmetal grey of the room. Without hesitation, Maggie pulled it down and stumbled backward when the door hissed and rose. She knew, deep down, what was waiting for her. She hoped - prayed to whatever cruel God was out there - it was a nightmare. Silence answered her, and Nora's body remained limp. Nora, alone, arms splayed and eyes wide - frozen in surprise and fear. The blood was still red, quickly defrosting and liquifying once again. Maggie’s legs gave out, sending her to the floor once again. 

It was real. She was dead. 

Her hands were startlingly cold as she pressed them to her lips in a vain effort to choke back the cry. No, she couldn’t be _dead._ Not the strong, courageous law student. Not the excited new mother. Not the damaged, but still _brave_ woman she’d been. Past-tense, now - God, she hated how easy it was. It was an unfair ending to the woman in front of her. Nora had only wanted her family _safe_ and her baby in her arms. She wouldn't be able to see her son grow up, wouldn't see him graduate or get married or _anything ever again._ Damnit, it wasn’t _fair-_

_"Critical failure in cryogenic array. Life support systems failing."_

The Hawthorns. The Whitfields. Oh, God. 

Her muscles protested, and the room swam beyond the tears in her eyes as she shoved herself up yet again. She stumbled to the closest pod - Mrs. Hawthorn's face stared back at her. The woman was slumped forward, eyes open, her expression caught somewhere between alarm and full-blown fear. Maggie grabbed the release handle and yanked. An electronic buzz broke the air.

_"Error - release mechanism damaged."_

What? No. No, no, no. She tried again, jiggling the handle perhaps a little harder than necessary. The same electronic voice answered every attempt. Maggie let out a wordless scream and hit the glass, turning towards Mr. Hawthorn's pod before the ache could settle in her knuckles.

Again and again, the pods refused to open. With each buzz, each denial, each realization that the person inside would die, the ache in her chest grew stronger. Sharper. It stabbed against her ribs and made her lungs heave. The terminals offered no support, no hope. She cursed herself, cursed whatever had jammed _each and every single fucking release lever._

Eventually, Maggie found herself back in front of Nora's pod, breathing heavily and shivering. The mechanical noises, previously loud and oppressive, slowed. Slowly, she sank to the ground, tears marking icy trails down her cheeks. Her mind reeled, and distantly she realized she was going into shock. Something clunked up ahead - the sound of a valve losing pressure. Nora was dead. The Whitfields, their children, the Hawthorns, they would be dead soon, too. She could only hope they wouldn't wake up - that they'd peacefully drift away. Shaun was gone. Kidnapped. She pressed her head to her knees, willing herself to breathe. The room quieted, going still and silent. The pod lights flickered, surged, and went dark.

They were dead. She couldn't save any of them. Dear God, they were - 

She had to stop thinking. Thinking about it was like pressing on a bruise - or maybe a cyst. Maggie knew she shouldn't do it, not with Shaun God knows where. One of these times, she was going to press too hard, and she'd open something that would be best left closed, leaving her open to creeping infection and even more pain. Nora was murdered. Just like everyone in the pods, like all the people above her. Billions of dead - did anyone on the surface even survive? The loss of this one, insignificant in the grand scale of things, hurt more. Nora was her's, however greedy that sounded. Her responsibility. Her friend. Her _family_ \- the last Barnes besides Maggie.

Well, not yet. She prayed, dear God, not yet.

Maggie took in another shuddering breath - filled with mold and dust and ice - and let it back out. Not all was lost, no matter how her heart ached. That bastard had Shaun. He was alive, screaming and crying - pried from Nora's arms as the bullet went through her brain. God, she hoped he wouldn't remember. The memory hurt her - a veteran and, most importantly, an _adult._ What the hell would that trauma do to a kid? 

She couldn’t think of it. She’d deal with that once Shaun was in her arms. If he remembered, she’d do her best to help. Now, she needed to keep going. There simply wasn't time for feeling sorry for the dead, much less herself. She needed to move, so she shoved it down and away and blocked it off - an old tactic fitting her heavy heart like a well-worn glove.

It was damn useful out in the wastes of Alaska. Saw something horrible? Put it in your box. Shoot someone who looked too damn young? Wrap that box in duct tape. Realize the bastards on the other side of the rifle wanted to get home equally as much as you? Add a nice steel lock and some chains to the mix. Have to put down one of your boys after they overdosed on Psycho?

Throw that fucking box off of a cliff.

There wasn't time to think about it. Wasting energy on stuff that happened wouldn't prevent the stuff that might happen. Hyper-focusing on the past might make you into a memory someone else has to pack away in their own box. Reflection was selfish, in a sense. Keep your fingers off the cysts, move forward, and, if you’re lucky, you’ll get out alive. Compartmentalization was useful as hell. A tactic that kept people alive.

Now, she was to use it again. No matter how much it hurt. She made a promise out in the Alaskan wastes, one she'd failed so far. There was a chance at redemption. A chance to make things right. She could rest afterward.

Standing once again - and staying upright - took more time than she’d like to admit. Her hip protested, and her muscles were far too stiff. How long had they been out? That was a troubling question and only made her want to get out of the vault that much quicker. The people that killed Nora hadn’t been Vault-Tec, so they must have been from the surface - or another vault. In any case, they could survive the surface, so she would, too. If not? Well, nothing of importance would be lost.

Nora's pod shut with a soft hiss, the dog tags and ring around her neck resting where they lay. They weren't Maggie's to keep. The first steps through the door and away from the pods were harrowing. Maggie found herself back into the locker room, looking slightly worse for wear. The room felt too silent, too still. The few glimpses Maggie caught prior to being shepherded into the pod showed an anthill of activity. Now, there was only the sound of faint shuffling. A person, she hoped. One that knew what was going on would be even better. She took a few hesitant steps forward, reluctant to add to the soft noises that had enveloped the entire vault. Suddenly, something scurried across the path in front of her, hesitating a few feet away.

It was a cockroach - or, at least she _thought_ it was a cockroach. It was far too big and far too brave. Instead of scurrying off, it honest-to-God _hissed_ at her, and pounced. Her arm came up in time to keep it away from her throat, but the bug didn't seem to mind. It bit down just the same. The bite hurt like a bitch and left an odd, fuzzy sensation in its wake, but she didn't have time to ruminate on it. She yelled, the sound too loud in her ears. Instinctually she swatted at the thing, dislodging it. It hit the ground, skidded on its carapace, righted itself, hissed again - in time for her boot to scatter its innards across the metal floor. 

"What the _fuck._ " Maggie stumbled backward, back meeting a wall. _"What the fuck."_ Seemingly attracted by their brethren's slaying, a group of not-cockroaches rounded the corner. One of them hissed, and the breath caught in her throat. They came quickly, moving deceptively fast, their pointed legs chittering against the steel floor. Panic buzzed at the base of her spine. She stumbled backward, desperately looking for something to defend herself with. A wrench sat on the opposite bench, and she lunged for it just as the first bug lept. It was quick to turn and leap again, but this time Maggie was ready. She hit it out of the air and sent it flying into the wall. The next few minutes were filled with flying bug guts and plentiful cursing as she did the same with the other three. 

Soon, the dust settled, and the room went quiet. The blue lockers were splattered with odd-colored blood, and the sounds of Maggie's desperate attempt to get enough air in her lungs shot through the silence. Giant bugs. Alright. Terrifying, but alright. She nudged one of the bodies out of her way, grimacing at the sheen of blood and crunched chitin. Doing her best not to look, she stepped to the locker.

Thank God, everything inside of the locker was as she left it. At least Vault-Tec hadn't been lying on that front. The school pictures, shots of Nate and Nora's wedding, the pictures of her and Nate's parents, pictures of Shaun. The deed to Nate and Nora's house in Sanctuary (not that they'd need it), copies of Maggie and Nora's degrees. The sight of those innocuous papers caused a stone to settle in her stomach. Carefully, she placed them back inside the canvas bag, hand knocking against a pill bottle. The slight contact made her relax momentarily, knowing she had time to wean herself off of the antidepressant before she ran out. 

Precious cargo zipped up, slung over her shoulder, and wrench in hand, she slunk from the room. She knew the entrance should be ahead unless Vault-Tec had done some serious renovation. So, she went the other way, curious as to what the hell had gone wrong - _if_ anything had gone wrong in the first place. The first room had a large desk and a terminal, though that wasn't what caught her eye. No, her attention was drawn to the gun, and the skeletal hand wrapped around it.

"Holy shit." The skeleton's jaw hung open, stained blue clothes drooping over its shoulders. It wasn’t easy to tell what had killed them, and she wasn’t eager to find out. In fact, if it hadn't been for the gun, she'd have turned and left. But, knowing giant cockroaches might not be the only thing this brave new world was throwing at her, she gingerly grasped the pistol and wiggled it out of the skeleton's grasp. _Then_ she turned and left, terminal be damned.

Even more determined to get out, Maggie made a beeline for the entrance room. Another skeleton, this one clad in a familiar lab coat, waited for her along with a (somehow) still functional Pip-Boy. The dark temptation to kick the skeleton's skull prickled on the back of her own, but she relented. Debasing the dead wouldn't get her anywhere. Instead, she slipped the Pip-Boy off of the too-thin wrist and slipped it onto her own. Not knowing what waited on the surface, it was best to be prepared.

Maggie was thankful that getting the big vault door open was easy as plugging the newfound Pip-Boy into the terminal. Anything more, and she might have been forced to resign to dying of dehydration. She knew how to use the terminals, being a mainstay of documentation in her old lab, but she wasn’t tech-savvy. Hacking? She’d never even thought of doing that - she’d simply never had the need. Well, maybe this was a good time to learn. The opening mechanism swung from the ceiling, clunking against the vault door across a sharp dip in the flooring. It sparked blue, whirring, and grinding away. Against her better judgment, Maggie cautiously walked toward it, gun drawn.

The platform under her feet lurched suddenly, and she almost shot the pistol out of reflex. It slid across the gap in the floor as the door rose. Her knuckles turned white from her grip on the railing, only relaxing once it shuddered to a stop. Beyond, the elevator loomed, the chainlink partition lifting like a shroud - like an invitation, like a taunt. Once again, she found herself in the middle of the platform, stealing her breathing as it moved upwards. 

Seemingly determined to get the last word in, an electronic voice chimed from the grainy speakers. _“Enjoy your return to the surface, and thank you for choosing Vault-Tec.” ___

__“Fuck you,” she snarled back. The thick blast doors up above shifted, and the shaft was filled with light._ _

__Again, in that brief moment of blindness, she found herself hopeful. The sun on her skin certainly did not feel like a nuclear winter. It was _warm,_ inviting. Like a warm summer day, so far away from the ice within the vault. Perhaps those predictions had been wrong. Perhaps - somehow, someway - the world was spared from total destruction. _ _

__All of that hope came crashing down the drain the moment her eyes adjusted to the bright light._ _

__It was destroyed. _Everything was destroyed.__ _

__What was once a lush forest was desolated. Dead snags scraped at the sky, jammed into the cracked and dry Earth. What had been red and green and yellow had turned to a brown and grey and sickly green. Everything looked starved of water and life, coated with dust. The sky was grey and lifeless. Beyond the hill, what was left of Sanctuary Hills lay. Pristine, perfect houses, and state-of-the-art cars had been blown apart - scattered about like children’s toys. Further than that, the skeleton of Boston jutted from the ground, a smudge against the grey sky. A deep, dark crater swallowed the horizon to the south, a hazy green veil obscuring most of it from view._ _

__Dear God, how could anyone have survived? Even Codsworth - oh, poor Coddy. Another choked sob bubbled in her throat, and she knew finding the faithful butler’s inanimate chassis would be the thing that broke her. Nate and Nora and then Codsworth - no, she simply wasn’t brave - wasn’t _strong_ \- enough. Stepping foot in Sanctuary without Nora and Shaun… it would be _wrong._ An invasion into something that wasn't hers, and would never exist again._ _

__Instead of following the path back to the residential street, she allowed her shaking legs to carry her into what used to be a forest. Everything was uncannily silent and still, allowing the shrill pitch in her ears to grow louder with each second. She could feel how exposed, open, and horribly _alone_ she was like a thorn in her side. Even in Anchorage, even when the trenches became graveyards, even when Nate died - she hadn't been alone. There had been other soldiers, a smattering of civilians, a few of the drillers. One of them stuck out in her mind, another soldier with gentle eyes and a soothing voice who stuck by her side until they reached Juneau. He'd sat in the back of the hummer and talked. She hadn't participated much in the conversation, considering the saturation of Med-X in her bloodstream. It kept her attention off of her mangled side and the absence of her brother. It kept her sane. She couldn't help but wonder, did he make it home? Was he able to see his girlfriend again? Did he die when the bombs fell?_ _

__A chill raced up her spine despite the hot sun on her back. No, no thinking. Into the box, then._ _

__Maggie gave the Sanctuary Hills a large berth and headed towards the bridge. She needed to find people - if not the people that took Shaun, then someone who could point her in the right direction. Someone to talk to, at least. To know there was someone out here besides her - it would help more than she’d like to admit. So, she walked through the ache in her hip. Walked through the thoughts that buzzed in her head like angry mosquitos. By the time she got to the bridge, her calves ached, and her feet stung. It'd been more than a few months since she'd walked this much, and a few of those months saw her confined to bed. Each broken-down car was spared a longing glance. Wasn’t that her luck - giant cockroaches with stinging bites survived, but not one car could do the same. What a shame._ _

__The Red Rocket gas station loomed ahead, and she considered checking the cars scattered around it. One of them had to work, right? She'd seen cars get smashed up, ground over rocks and ice, and still keep working. Granted, those cars were usually military issue - and more like a tank than a Corvega - but still. The rusted fence loomed, a defense against looters back before the bombs fell. The gaping hole a fallen tree had provided made its purpose moot. She slung a leg over, pulled herself up, and took a step towards the rusted building. She froze as a big, brown, barking blur ran at her. The instinct to raise her pistol and shoot had her arm moving to comply, but the dog skidded to a stop just a few feet away. It - he - stared, his too-intelligent eyes boring into her and tail wagging._ _

__Dogs. There were plenty in Alaska - letting loose a rabid mutt was one way to clear a trench in record time. This one wasn't aggressive, as far as she could tell. If it were one of the Red's dogs, she'd have lost one of her arms by now. At a loss for anything else to do, and wanting to look as unintimidating as possible, Maggie took a knee. “Hey, fella. Whatcha doin’ out here all by yourself?” Seemingly getting the permission he was looking for, the dog surged forward and covered her face in licks. Maggie let out a surprised laugh, her hands finding themselves in the mutt’s fur. Some parts were matted, his ribs were a little too pronounced, and he stunk a bit - but Maggie’s shoulders couldn’t help but sag in relief. Dogs hadn’t changed. Dogs were still good. That’s one thing she can hang on to._ _

__Reluctantly, she pushed the mutt back, holding him at arm’s length lest he surge forward again and get her face even more slobbery. “Where’s your owner, big guy? Don’t tell me someone left a sweetie like you all by yourself.” All the dog did was whine and wag his tail, so she took the time to look around. The gas station looked well-abandoned, the windows blown out, and the siding rusty. The wind rustled through the tall, dry grass, and carried no voices to her ears. No one ran out to yell at her, so she assumed the mutt was on his own, poor thing._ _

__“Well,” she stood, the dog immediately at her side as she began to walk, “you can come with me, if you want. I don’t do well on my own, anyway. At least, that’s what Sergeant Baker said…” The words were like a waterfall coming out of her mouth, a soothing balm on her weary soul. Sure, it probably wasn’t a good idea to be so loud - if she never saw those giant cockroaches ever again, it’d still be too soon - but it was nice to _talk_. The uncanny sense that the mutt was listening was soothing._ _

__Soon, the bleak wasteland turned into a desolate suburban street. Large brick and mortar buildings sprung from the cracked pavement, windows blown out, and seemingly abandoned. The air blew down alleyways and through the streets, carrying pieces of cloth and plastic. Concord, if she remembered correctly, was old as dirt to begin with. It’d survived a revolution, a civil war, two world wars, and now it was left looking like _this._ “It’s a real shame,” she said to the pooch, keeping close to the buildings. Even after nuclear devastation, she still felt the urge to keep to the sidewalk. In any case, having something solid to her side felt much safer._ _

__“Y’know, I guess we’re real lucky any of it’s still standing,” she said to the mutt, who strayed ahead and led her through the skeletal suburb. “The bomb dropped close-'' The far off report of gunfire knocked the words from her mouth and the strength from her knees. She pressed herself against the brick wall at her back, knuckles white around the pistol in her hands. The dog whined in concern, but Maggie was more focused on getting air back in her lungs. Distantly, she was irritated. What the hell was this? It was only gunfire, something she’d heard many times before. Why did it feel like her insides were being pressed through her mouth? Why did she feel like she was going to die?_ _

__Maggie really didn't have time to think about it. The dog looked towards the gunfire, gave a woof, and ran _towards_ the scuffle. Any intelligence Maggie previously thought the dog had went right out the window, though she wasn't one to judge. There wasn’t time to think. Her legs were moving and she was up, stumbling after her newfound friend. Glass crunched under her boots, storefronts flickered at the corner of her vision. The sounds of a fight got louder and louder, almost as noisy as the blood in her ears._ _

__“Mutt! Goddamnit-,” The words died in her throat. The dog had led her around a corner and behind a group of people. A bunch of scary bastards with even scarier guns stood in what looked like a courtyard, taking shelter behind whatever they could find. Thankfully, they were focused on peppering a large, colonial-style brick building with as many rounds as they could. For a long moment, Maggie couldn’t understand why they were bothering, but a bit of movement and a flash of light revealed a disheveled man on the balcony._ _

__Even amid a gunfight, she couldn’t help but feel relieved. There were people. She wasn’t alone. Thank God._ _

__There wasn’t much time to celebrate, however. The stupid dog had launched himself at the closest man, who let out a scream and tried to toss the mutt aside. An inordinate burst of rage swelled in her chest. The gun raised too easily, and the man had dropped before the report of her pistol could reach her ears. The dog didn’t seem to notice - he simply moved onto the next one, which Maggie shot as well. They fell one by one, the last realizing their companions were gone a little too late. He too fell, leaving the courtyard empty and still. Maggie was well prepared to grab the dog by his scruff and hightail it out of there, but the man on the balcony spotted them both._ _

__“Hey! Up here, on the balcony!” Shit, he’d seen her. Reluctantly, Maggie looked up to the man, one hand shielding her eyes from the midday sun. The man must have interpreted the look as acknowledgment. He continued, voice shaking. “I’ve got a group of settlers inside! The Raiders are almost through the door. Quick! Grab that Laser Musket and help us, please!”_ _

__The mention of a laser musket (What the hell?) gave her enough pause, and she almost didn’t catch the man asking for help. Begging for it, really, especially if he was willing to ask someone like her. Her chest ached, recognizing the desperation in his voice. She glanced at the mutt, who simply tilted his head, tongue lolling out of his bloody muzzle._ _

__“Well, shit.” It didn't seem like she had much of a choice. She wanted to say it was the dog - those big ol' puppy eyes and trusting expression - but it was more for her own conscience. Taking the risk was dumb and soft, she knew, but she'd rather get shot than have any deaths resting on her conscience._ _

__...She tried not to think about the people she’d already shot. Into the box, they go - she had more to do than mope._ _

__With only a bit of hesitation, she snagged the laser musket. The odd weapon got slung over her shoulder, her pistol at the ready. Some part of her wanted to take some of the armor off of the closest corpse. Logically, she knew the vault suit couldn't protect her. Yet, it felt wrong. She wasn't one to shy from blood, but this was different._ _

__The entrance loomed ahead. With a deep breath to calm her nerves, a prayer to keep her hands from shaking, Maggie slowly opened the large, wooden door - not in the slightest prepared for what was to come._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Comments are super appreciated. Stay safe out there!


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